A Story About Chocolate
by Kyonkichi89
Summary: Draco decides that Vampirism severely interferes with his exquisite taste in fine cuisine, so he decides to do something about it. D/H slash.


**Title: **A Story About Chocolate

**Rating:** M

**Pairing: **Draco/Harry

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. This story was written for fun, not profit.

**Author's Notes:** This is a giftfic for my dearest Hana-chan on her graduation. I love you, Hana-chan!

Draco stared down at his plate morosely and picked at the perfect steak medallion with his fork. The house elves had prepared his dinner perfectly as always and their creation smelled delicious, damn them. Draco scrutinized his food, admitting to himself that he was looking for a flaw, some excuse not to eat it, but he could find nothing wrong with the meal. The presentation was beautiful; the fillet rested on a bed of greens that had been wilted just the slightest bit and was bordered to one side by golden new potatoes. One of the house elves had decorated the sides of the deep plate with swirls of rich brown sauce and when he cut into the meat, Draco found it to be cooked just the way he liked it – a delicate pink all the way through to the center.

He shoved his plate away with a huff and snapped his fingers. "Take it away," he barked.

The elf popped out of existence with Draco's plate and returned a moment later bearing a crystal goblet of deep red liquid. Draco noted sardonically that it resembled his favorite vintage and the comparison made him snort. Muggle novelists who claimed that blood tasted like wine had no idea what they were talking about. From Draco's experience, it tasted more like grass than anything else.

A mere few years ago, Draco would still have been staring at a rich plate of food. Fully knowing what would happen, he would have cut a slice of meat and placed it in his mouth, feeling it turn to tasteless ash the moment it touched his tongue. In all probability, he would have screamed and cursed and thrown his plate across the room, the sound of shattering china only slightly assuaging his anger over what he had lost. Before being turned, Draco had considered himself an epicurean. Food was a big deal. And even after he'd discontinued those little episodes, Draco hadn't quite been able to get over his obsession with chocolate. He'd often smuggled boxes of his formerly favorite varieties into his room, spending hours simply breathing in the irresistible smell.

But he was over that now. It had taken several chilly reminders from his father that "Malfoys do not throw tantrums," but eventually, Draco realized that neither breaking things nor moping over chocolate would fix his vampirism. In fact, nothing would fix his vampirism because of the simple fact that it had no cure. However, that didn't mean that he couldn't spend the rest of his life brooding – albeit with great dignity, as befitting a Malfoy – and refusing to find gainful employment or do anything else that could be considered useful. It made him feel better, dammit.

At least it usually made him feel better. Tonight, stare as he would at his glowering reflection in the goblet, Draco could not convince himself that sulking would improve his mood. Nor could he convince himself to drink the goblet of sheep's blood the house elves had left him. Draco rose from the table and cast a quick glance at his robes, but he was impeccably dressed, as always, so he announced to the room, "I'm going out," and headed for the Manor's front door. For the first time since being turned, Draco went looking for a distraction.

Draco sat in a shadowy booth shrouded by a blue haze of cigarette smoke, nursing a glass of firewhiskey and watching the dancers. The club, though a complete dive, certainly offered plenty in the way of distractions. Draco had splurged on top-shelf alcohol because, although his condition somewhat dulled the taste, the drink's effects still worked and his head was beginning to buzz pleasantly. He watched the couples on the dance floor sway to the slow song the band was playing and let his eyes roam over the fine selection of corded arms, long legs, and tight arses. Perhaps, Draco though, after a few more drinks he'd work up the nerve to join them. He hadn't been to a club since being turned and he was half afraid he'd forgotten how to dance entirely. And Malfoys do not make public spectacles of themselves.

Draco was just thinking that, from here, the scent of blood wasn't too strong when he smelled someone approaching his booth. The warm aroma became ever more tantalizing with each step he took in Draco's direction, so he tried to stop breathing (a surprisingly hard habit to break, he'd found, though now that he'd joined the ranks of the undead, it was no longer a necessity) and willed whoever it was to go away. But the scent of blood filtered into his sensitive nostrils just the same, and had Draco been alive and his glands in working order, his mouth would have been watering. But unlike a living man, a vampire doesn't feel hunger as an emptiness in his stomach. Instead, Draco felt hollow in every part of his being, each cell thirsting to fill the void and maintain life. He felt an irresistible pull towards the approaching stranger and realized belatedly and with alarm that he should have eaten before coming to a place so full of people. He stared at his glass for a moment before slamming it onto the table with a shaking hand, knowing that the alcohol was causing his controls to slip.

A smiling, blue-eyed face and the object of Draco's current dread popped around the corner of his booth, alerted by the sound. The part of Draco's brain not striving to keep from biting the man vaguely remembered seeing him at the bar and admiring the way he licked his fingers after every bite of his hamburger. "Everything alright?" the brunet asked, leaning against the table as if to continue the casual conversation.

Draco braced himself against the force pulling him towards the over-friendly stranger, gritting his teeth, but also striving to keep his elongated canines from view. "Everything's perfectly fine," he snapped, hoping his tone and his patent Malfoy glare would send the source of his torment running in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately his frigid demeanor seemed to have the opposite effect. The man leaned even closer to Draco, who attempted to surreptitiously scoot the other way. "Are you sure? I've been watching you for awhile and you seem to have some pretty serious stuff on your mind." He smiled encouragingly and Draco's knuckles whitened on the edge of the table. "Sometimes it helps to talk about things, don't you think? I'd be glad to listen."

"I said I'm fine," Draco snarled. The fact that he found the man physically attractive was not making resisting him any easier, he reflected. Draco tried to lean farther away, but his back was already pressed against the wooden booth. His eyes darted frantically, searching for a way to escape, but the stranger was blocking his path. Draco briefly debated trying to shove past him, but he knew that if he got any closer to the warm life flowing through the man's veins, he'd lose control completely.

The stranger moved as if to slide into the seat next to Draco, probably to continue coaxing, and the vampire felt his restraint snap. He grabbed the man's wrist in an iron grip and yanked him into the booth, covering his mouth with his other hand to stifle his shout of surprise. Draco's body had kicked into full vampire survival mode, his limbs moving of their own accord and leaving his brain free to point out that the annoyingly persistent brunet had had it coming to him, one way or another. He'd practically _asked_ to be bitten. And anyway, he'd never tasted human blood before…

As if watching the scene from outside himself, Draco noticed that he'd pinned the man into the corner of the booth and was practically sitting on his legs. Without removing his hand from over the stranger's mouth, Draco leaned his face towards the man's neck, just behind his ear, and inhaled deeply. Mingled with the man's natural scent was the sour smell of fear, which, Draco thought, wrinkling his nose, was rather off-putting, though apparently not enough to make him pull away. His fingers tightened around the man's wrist as he leaned in the final inch and let his fangs pierce the delicate skin behind his jaw.

Hot blood flooded Draco's mouth. Fortunately, that strange grassy flavor wasn't present, but instead, the blood tasted like…Like meat. And bread. And was that…onion? And ketchup? Draco was so distracted by the odd taste that he barely noticed his hunger being sated. He took another pull before it hit him, causing him to yank his fangs free of the stranger's neck and nearly spit out his mouthful. The man tasted like a hamburger! Specifically, he tasted like the hamburger he'd eaten not ten minutes ago. Draco stared incredulously into unfocused blue eyes for a moment and then shoved himself off the stranger's lap and fled the club. A plan was forming in Draco's mind: he had to find Harry Potter.

Draco had not been stalking Harry Potter. The phrase 'keeping tabs' seemed more applicable, never mind the fact that he'd saved every single newspaper clipping ever printed about the git. Draco's excuses to himself regarding this matter varied: he was collecting potential blackmail material, he was keeping his enemy closest, he was getting a kick out of the Savior's pathetic social life, he was staring at Potter's bloody fine arse. Even after coming to terms with the fact that he'd never wanted anything quite as badly as he wanted Harry Potter, Draco refused to admit that he was stalking the Chosen One. He was simply…keeping tabs on him.

One thing Draco had learned from his extensive research was that Potter could not cook to save his life. That, and that Potter also had no one to cook for him, having broken it off with the Weaselette sometime in February of last year. So the pathetic, incapable git ate out literally every night. When he'd first started, The Prophet had treated his every excursion as headline news and Witch Weekly had published articles such as, "Harry's Top Five: Restaurants Relished by the Savior of the Wizarding World". The hype had gradually died down, but in the meantime, Harry had refined his tastes and had become something of an amateur food critic, going so far as to write a short column in The Quibbler as a favor to Looney Lovegood. From what Draco could tell, Potter's taste, if not a rival to Draco's own, certainly was not abysmal, and Draco thought he could live with that.

Which is why Draco was watching Potter from behind a strong glamour in the dining room of Le Chateau Noir, the leading French fusion restaurant in London. It was one of Potter's favorites, so locating him had only taken Draco three tries. He had stopped by the Manor for enough sheep's blood to keep him from assaulting any waiters and embarrassing himself, but not enough to completely kill his appetite. Draco watched Potter finish the last of his dessert, a chocolate torte with raspberry sauce, and happily anticipated his own upcoming meal.

Someone was watching Harry. They were being clever about it, but Harry was fairly certain the man in the corner had been studying him since he came in, though he was wearing a heavy glamour, so trying to identify him by sight would be pointless. He shrugged and continued to eat his torte, secretly glad for even this pathetic amount of company. Since he'd broken up with Ginny, meals had been more peaceful, but also more lonely. Harry sometimes went out to eat with Ron and Hermione, but Hermione always tried to convince him to learn to cook for himself, which grated on his nerves after a while. Besides, neither of them ever came to Le Chateau Noir because Hermione refused to set foot in any restaurant that served foie gras and Ron proclaimed that French people ate "weird stuff". So Harry was on his own, enjoying the company of a disguised stalker in the corner. Great.

Harry paid his bill and left the restaurant, half expecting the stranger to follow him but seeing no one on his way out. It wasn't until inhumanly strong hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him into an alley that Harry realized he shouldn't have let his guard down so quickly. He moved to pull out his wand, but his attacker pinned his wrists to the wall with one hand, pressing the other against his chest and leaning in close.

Harry's surprised "What the fuck?" was cut short as the man dropped his glamour. "Malfoy?" Harry frowned as his voice came out rather more high and breathy than he had intended. Damn the git for looking completely beautiful despite having just dragged Harry into a dingy alley. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

"I think the question, Potter," Malfoy purred, pausing to sniff Harry's neck and hum in contentment before continuing, "Is what are _you_ doing?"

Harry snorted and tried to ignore what Malfoy's close proximity was doing to him. "Whatever. I'm not the one smelling other blokes in dark alleyways."

Malfoy continued as if he hadn't heard him. "_You_, Potter, are saving my life."

"Yeah?" Harry said, cursing his breathing for speeding up just because Draco fucking Malfoy was running his free hand all over his chest. "How's that?"

"I'm starving, _Harry_," Malfoy said, nuzzling the soft skin behind Harry's ear, causing him to shiver. Who would have thought Malfoy saying his name could be so sexy? "And saving people is practically your hobby, so…" The hand not pinning Harry's wrists to the wall slipped into Harry's robes and the blond shifted closer, pressing himself flush against Harry.

Harry noted distantly that he wasn't putting up much of a fight. Attempting to get a grip, he shook his head, dislodging Malfoy from his neck. "You don't need my blood," he said in what he hoped was a stern tone. "I know for a fact that your father purchased a whole flock of sheep so that you could drink their blood and remain a model member of society or some such tripe."

Malfoy dropped the seductive pretense and sneered, an expression Harry did _not _find about ten times sexier than his previous sultry pout. "Do you have any idea what sheep's blood tastes like, Potter?" Harry was about to respond that of course he didn't when Malfoy continued, "Oh, that's right. Obviously not. The Ministry's Golden Boy would probably sooner kill himself than become a danger to society."

"That's not what I was going to say!" Harry snapped. "I know you're not a danger to society." _Just a danger to me and my own neck at the moment._ The thought did not alarm him nearly as much as it should have.

Some of the steel left Malfoy's eyes and he said, "Sheep's blood tastes like grass, Potter. But do you know what your blood will taste like?" That seductive lilt crept back into Malfoy's voice and Harry swallowed hard. Draco leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear and his breath sent tendrils of warmth to pool in his belly. "Chocolate torte with raspberry sauce."

It took Harry's befuddled brain a second to figure out what Malfoy meant, but eventually he got it. Malfoy was saying that blood tasted like whatever the person – or sheep – had last eaten. "That makes absolutely no sense," he said, but Malfoy had gone back to nuzzling his neck and his statement's conviction was replaced by something suspiciously like breathless anticipation.

"Well, it's true." Malfoy placed a sucking kiss on Harry's neck right over his jugular, but did not pierce the skin with his teeth.

Harry laughed shakily. "If this is some ploy to get into my pants, there are easier ways to do it, you know."

"So I can see." Harry could hear the smirk in his voice as Malfoy pushed his thigh between Harry's legs and rubbed it against his growing erection. "But honestly, sustenance really is my primary goal. Getting into your pants is merely a potential side benefit."

Harry tried to keep the hurt out of his voice, though adopting a light and teasing tone was somewhat difficult with Malfoy grinding his leg against Harry's hard cock. "Thanks a lot." It must not have sounded as casual as Harry was hoping for because Malfoy looked up at him. Harry turned his head in embarrassment but continued, "I've only wanted you in my pants for, like, three years now."

Malfoy made a choked sound and in his surprise, his grip on Harry's wrists lessened. Harry thought he could get free now, if he wanted to. "Three years?" the blond asked incredulously.

Harry blushed. "After you were turned, I stopped seeing you around and I realized I missed your stupid smirking face. Stupid of me, I guess. I should have - "

Draco released his hold on Harry's wrists, grabbed his face with both hands, and kissed him. Harry stood frozen for a second before cautiously wrapping his arms around Draco's neck and parting his lips the tiniest amount. Draco traced his lips with his tongue before slipping it between them to taste Harry's mouth. Harry moaned as Draco slid both of his hands into Harry's robes and beneath his shirt, stroking skin which grew hotter with every touch. Harry twined his tongue with Draco's and the answering groan sent shivers of excitement down Harry's spine.

Eventually, they broke for air, though their hands did not stop exploring each other's bodies. Harry's were tangled in Draco's hair and he reveled in the silky feel of it as he pointed out somewhat redundantly, "You haven't bitten me yet. Are you waiting for permission or something?"

Draco curled his lip and lifted his chin haughtily. "I would never do something so uncouth as to accost an unwilling victim." He looked around the ally and sniffed in disdain. "And unless you're the type who enjoys romantic trysts down dingy mews, I thought we'd move to more comfortable locales first."

Harry felt his face stretch into a wide grin. "That sounds brilliant."

"Quite," Draco quipped with a smirk. He stepped in close, grabbed Harry's arse and disapparated them with a pop.

If Draco were honest with himself, his plan was progressing a bit more quickly than he'd originally anticipated. Frankly, he reflected as he appeared in his sitting room with an armful of Gryffindor, he'd expected more of a fight from Potter. This easy capitulation, seemingly the product of a long-carried torch similar to Draco's own, was a bit unsettling.

Not that Draco was complaining, he thought as Harry's hands slid back into his hair to drag him forward into another kiss. Potter's intensity was beyond anything Draco had dared to hope for; he threw himself at Draco with a fervor that the animal in Draco could not help but respond to. To that end, he shrugged out of his robes, shoved Harry's off his shoulders, and slammed the Gryffindor up against the sitting room wall. He detected a flicker of surprise and possibly alarm in Harry's eyes and, trying to ignore the rush it gave him, he lessened his grip and teased, "Did you forget I was a vampire, Potter?"

It was the last chance Harry would get to back down, but he merely gave a breathy laugh and spread his legs to encourage Draco's thigh to continue its earlier ministrations. "Are you kidding? How could I forget? You've got this amazing pale skin - " he slid his fingers over Draco's face in a light caress. "And these totally sexy teeth," Harry slipped a finger into Draco's mouth and the blond closed his lips around it with a growl and began to suck on it. Harry shuddered. "I don't think I've ever been more turned on in my life."

Draco was inclined to agree and decided it was high time they were getting on with it. He grabbed the collar of Harry's shirt and yanked downward, ripping the fabric entirely off him instead of screwing around with all those stupid buttons. What idiot had invented buttons, anyway? Harry seemed to have reached the same conclusion because he wordlessly Vanished Draco's shirt and hauled the blond against him, gasping at the touch of Draco's unnaturally cool skin against his own. He ran his hands all over the blond's back, seemingly unable to touch him enough. Draco leaned in to taste the delicious skin of Harry's neck, still not biting but placing sucking kisses in a searing trail down to his collar bone. Harry whined in frustration and bucked against Draco's thigh. "Just do it already," he groaned.

"Clothes off," Draco ordered. Harry fumbled with the fastenings on his trousers until Draco grew impatient and batted his hands away, finally dragging both pants and trousers down over Harry's hips, brushing against his throbbing erection on the way down. Harry groaned and kicked off his shoes so he could step out of his pantlegs. Draco did the same and then they were both naked and clutching at each other once more.

Draco grabbed Harry's leg and hooked it over his own hip, spreading the Gryffindor wide and giving Draco easier access to the place he sought. "Suck," he ordered, pressing two fingers against Harry's lips. The brunet complied, laving the digits with his tongue until they were dripping with saliva, his eyes boring intently into Draco's the entire time. Draco's breath caught at the sight. If he'd thought Harry would blush and cringe and give in to Draco's every whim, he was sorely mistaken. Though Harry was technically fulfilling the submissive role, there was nothing submissive about his challenging gaze or the way his hips thrust up to meet Draco's fingers.

Draco slid one slick finger into Harry's entrance, slowly twisting and pumping it in and out until Potter snapped his hips impatiently. "More," he demanded and Draco was more than happy to push another finger into the tight opening. He scissored his fingers until Harry cried out and pushed back desperately against his hand. Draco stroked and stretched until Harry was a trembling, panting wreck.

"Ready?" he asked hoarsely, intoxicated by the sight of Harry's head thrown back and his hair sweat-slicked and rumpled. In answer, Harry cradled the back of Draco's head and pulled his face towards his exposed neck.

"Come on," he moaned, holding Draco's head in place and bracing his other hand on the blond's shoulder.

Draco gave in to both his hunger and his lust. He positioned his aching cock at Harry's entrance and thrust slowly in until he was fully sheathed in Potter's tight heat. Then, he finally parted his lips against Harry's neck to let his fangs pierce the delicate flesh. As Harry's blood flooded into his mouth, he started to thrust, almost overwhelmed by the combination of sensation and taste. Harry tasted like chocolate. He tasted rich and dark, with a hint of tart raspberry, and unbearably sweet. He sucked and sucked, unable to believe he'd lived so long without this. This was so much better than drinking cold blood from a goblet, and not just because of the taste, though that was a huge improvement. As Harry writhed against him, keening his pleasure to the ceiling and bucking his hips to meet Draco's every thrust, Draco decided he'd never felt more alive. As Harry's blood poured through his starving veins, the power behind Draco's thrusts increased until he was practically pounding Harry into the wall, forcing the brunet to go up on his toes and clutch at Draco's shoulder for balance.

Not that he seemed to mind. Harry came with a scream, his orgasm exploding between them and huge, rolling shudders wracking his body. Harry's channel tightened around Draco's cock, triggering his own blinding orgasm, and causing him to shout what was probably Harry's name. The brunet slumped forward and they both toppled to the floor, too boneless and shaken to move.

Harry regained consciousness to see worried grey eyes staring down at him. When Draco saw he was awake, he scowled. "Merlin, Potter, don't do that. I thought I'd killed you, and I really don't fancy the life of a fugitive."

Harry scoffed. "Aside from a blinding headache and a queasy stomach, I'm perfectly fine. Thanks for asking, you parasitic monster."

Draco's lips quirked upwards in a tiny smile which Harry found hopelessly cute and scooted out from under him, returning a moment later with a headache potion. "Drink this," he said in that imperious tone that Harry was beginning to think was unconscious on Draco's part. "I already healed your neck."

"I'm not sure which surprises me more," Harry remarked, gulping down the foul tasting potion. "A vampire being thoughtful, or _you_ being thoughtful."

Draco smirked. "How do you know I'm not simply trying to get you to agree to another feeding sometime in the future?"

Harry shook his head. The git was totally hopeless. "How was it, anyway?" he asked, gesturing to his neck.

"Well," Draco said loftily, "I had hoped you would order the chocolate pot de crème, but the torte wasn't a bad choice. All in all, I'd say it wasn't horrible."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's the highest praise I've ever heard you give, Malfoy. And as for the pot de crème, I suppose there's always next time."

Draco grinned, enjoying the way Harry's breath hitched at the sight of his pointed fangs, and kissed him.

**Fin.**


End file.
